


Dreams and Wishes

by lilidelafield



Series: Raw Recruit [9]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 20:18:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10343820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilidelafield/pseuds/lilidelafield
Summary: Anya is enjoying her working life at UNCLE, but she is desperately lonely. She seriously considers whether she would be better to return home to her father's tribe after all. But what about Illya?





	

 

Anya Kossova’s life was not turning out quite the way she had expected, and certainly her trip to the United States of America had not had the result she had long been dreaming of. Her love for Illya had not abated one jot, and yet she returned home each day to an empty apartment, and she sat on her balcony and gazed out upon the city which bustled with people…lots of people. How many of them, she often asked herself, were sitting on similar balconies gazing out and dreaming of a love that was so desperate and yet out of reach?

She had been hurt and upset at first by his refusal to break the rules for her. Surely that was what rules were for, correct? But he was adamant that his work was too important to give up, and that if she was able to wait for him, they would still have their time.

At the time, she had balked at the idea. He was twenty-three years old, and he wanted her to wait for seventeen years before they could marry? So, she had almost returned to Illya’s maternal grandfather, the Russian Ambassador to get him to arrange for her return home. _Almost_.

Despite Napoleon Solo’s assurances to the contrary, she was still certain that her appointment as a member of the translations team here at UNCLE, was largely due to Illya. Part of her reason for accepting the job had been to give him to time to rue his decision. The thing was, it had not turned out like that. Not for either of them.

No one save for Solo and Waverly knew of her previous connections with Illya. They all knew that she was a Russian Gypsy, and as far as they were all concerned, she had left her home behind to seek a better life in America. They were all fond enough of their home here to be willing to believe that a life in the good old U.S of A would be enough to solve any of life’s problems.

She answered questions on her background readily enough, but was careful to say nothing that would even suggest that she and Illya had ever known one another. She went about her duties studiously, making her own friends, and, like her colleagues, watched the much-admired field agents from afar. Learning about them from the girls, and smiled, inside, where it wouldn’t show, when they revealed just how terrifying the Russian Section two agent, Kuryakin was.

She learned quickly enough Solo’s reputation as a ladies’ man; that he loved and admired women, that he adored taking them out and treating them like royalty, and, also, how most of the women adored him in turn. She also learned that every single woman on the base, bar none, would have willingly pushed Solo aside for a chance of a date with the beautiful Russian.

He was adored for being beautiful to look at, for that lovely smile which appeared all too rarely, and for those delicate hands that were so deadly in the field. Only Susan Winger had had the privilege of a date with Illya Kuryakin, and that only because Solo had been injured, and _someone_ had had to escort Susan to the theatre, right? Susan’s reports about her time with Illya had been sketchy, but she had commented that those large hands of his were so very soft and gentle when he had taken her in his arms to dance after their meal late in the evening, that he had looked her in the eye and listened attentively when she talked, and his sweet smile had made her feel special. She had looked forward to a second date, but no. Once their wonderful evening was over, Illya returned to being the ice-prince that everyone feared, even to her.

Anya told them nothing. She was a loyal friend, after all, and she had learned that despite their circumstances, Illya _was_ being loyal to her, and had always been. He still wore a ring for her, indicating that he was not free. He had clearly told no one anything about himself, his background save perhaps for his partner. He had become a mysterious figure, an enigma to everyone, that somehow made him seem even more dangerous. No one knew quite what his full capabilities were, and no one was tempted to push him too far.

Anya recalled the evening of the day she had arrived. She and Illya sitting in his apartment, enfolded in one another’s arms, both weeping.

She remembered Illya as that painfully shy little boy she had first met, crying with fear and hiding behind his mama and his elder sister.

She remembered him laughing and giggling with her as they played and raced through the woods, playing tricks on the younger kids in the camp, following and spying on the older kids.

She remembered the game they had played of throwing stones at the caravan wheels, each endeavoring to get a stone through the spokes without touching them. She remembered her perfect shot, followed by Illya’s ridiculous overthrow which had gone straight into the opened window and smashed Illya’s uncle’s prized pottery plates.

She also recalled the whipping he had received on his rump for that piece of mischief, which had led to his not being able to sit comfortably for several days.

The fact that Illya knew the damage she could do to his ice-prince demeanor if she talked about him had not stopped him from getting her a position here, made her feel, to her surprise, honoured. It meant that he trusted her. Completely.

She wondered what he would do when they passed in the corridor? It had not happened yet, bizarrely, but it was bound to sooner or later. Would he ignore he completely as he always did when he was preoccupied? Would he give her a polite nod in passing? Would he give her a smile and say hello and pass the time of day with her?

She was reflecting on that very thing, as she stood in elevator number three on her way back to work after eating lunch in the commissary, when the doors swooshed open and Illya fell through them, heavily supported by Napoleon.

            “I can’t make it…sorry…’Poleon…”

For a moment, Anya was paralysed with shock as Illya slid bonelessly to the floor, his eyes closing. Solo reacted with a panic that shocked Anya even more.

            “Oh no you don’t Kuryakin. You don’t let some punk end it for you like this. Fight, dammit! Fight!”

As Illya failed to respond, Anya touched Solo’s shoulder.

            “Let me.” She whispered. Solo moved back reluctantly and Anya knelt beside Illya, not realizing she was kneeling in a pool of his blood. Solo moved in to press down on the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood, whilst Anya cradled Illya’s head in her arms. She spoke softly to him in Ukrainian.

Unable to understand the language, Solo watched as she continued to speak softly to the stricken man until after a few moments, his eyes flickered open. He grimaced in pain, but did not move. His eyes acknowledged his partner, then rested on Anya, who was now silently weeping. He whispered something in Ukrainian and she looked up.

            “Illya.” She switched to English, in deference to Napoleon who was looking a little blank.

            “Stay with me Illya. You have to fight.”

            “Hurts…so weak…” his head started lolling again. She tapped his cheek as Napoleon called to him.

            “Illya, fight it, please. Stay with me.”

Illya opened his eyes again with an effort and Anya kissed the tip of his nose.

            “I’ve heard what the girls around here say about you. Scary, fierce, Ice-prince? If you don’t start to fight I’ll tell them about your Uncle Viktor and his prized pottery collection.”

Napoleon had to stifle a smile in spite of his worry as his partner almost spluttered in response.

            “You wouldn’t?”

            “If you give up and die on us you will never know, will you?”

            “Anya!”

Anya grinned at him.

            “That’s better, old friend. Stay angry if it will keep you fighting. And for your information, of course I wouldn’t. You know me. Besides, I remember very well the revenge you had on me for leaving you to take all the blame.”

Illya smiled weakly. He remembered that very well himself. In a way, it had almost been worth being whipped by Uncle Viktor to see her soaking wet and covered from head to foot in horse manure.

            “You smelled bad for three days.”

            “At least I could sit down!”

The elevator jerked to a halt and the medical team rushed in and started tending to the injured man. Once they had stabilized him, they rushed him away, Napoleon following closely. Left alone, still in the elevator, Anya stood looking down at the pool of blood which a member of housekeeping would clear up in a minute. She backed away from it, her heart thumping, and her hands shaking. Oh god, they could have lost him. She could have lost him. He had lost so much blood, and could have died, and she would have lost him forever. Her own, beautiful Illyusha. She slipped to the floor, and folded her arms over her face and wept silently, her shoulders shaking.

Once Illya had been stabilized and was out of danger, Napoleon had realized that Anya had not followed them to medical. He had assumed she had returned to her department, and when he went up there to speak to her, he was informed that she had not yet returned and was grossly overdue. Napoleon explained briefly what had happened in the elevator; just enough to explain Anya’s absence, then set himself to search for her. He found her on the roof, staring out across the city.

            “Please tell me he didn’t die?” she begged as soon as she saw him. Solo smiled.

            “He’ll be fine. Illya is pretty tough you know. I am worried about you. You’re entitled to be worried about Illya…but there is more to it, isn’t there?”

Fighting back the tears, Anya nodded.

            “I came here to get married. Everything was going to be perfect, just as we always knew it would. Illya may have learned how to be alone, Napoleon, but I haven’t. I have always been surrounded by my family and friends. You have given me a beautiful apartment here, but what is the point of living in it all on my own? I enjoy work, partly because I am surrounded by people all day. I hate going back to my apartment because there is no one there. I should have just made a clean break and gone home, back to my father’s camp.”

The tears started to fall, and Solo’s heart went out to her.

            “Well then, silly, why don’t you share an apartment?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “If you don’t want to live alone, you can share an apartment with someone else. There are two or three of the girls here who go home every night to empty apartments, and who tend to volunteer for all the extra duties, I suspect just for the company. I could give you their names. You could talk to them about the possibility of getting a slightly larger apartment to share between you. It would save UNCLE on the rent bills, and you would not have to be alone every second. It may only be a second best, but…”

Napoleon saw a light spark in her eye that he had not realized had gone out.

            “Thank you, Napoleon. That would be…would they want to share with me?”

            “You can ask. Speak to Candace Houghton, Lucy Wray and Joanna Higgins.”

            “I will. Thank you. I…er…can I go down and see Illya before I go back to my desk?”

            “Of course. Come on.”

Three weeks later, as they started to unpack their belongings and arrange things to their linking in their new apartment, Candy, Lucy and Jo congratulated Anya for such a great idea.

            “It’ll be so much more fun being able to share things together rather than always having to cook and eat and clean the refrigerator all on my own.” Candy commented. Lucy nodded.

            “I agree. But Anya, if you were always so used to being surrounded by the people you love, your family and everyone, why did you leave them to come here to New York, where you knew you would be alone?”

Anya smiled wistfully.

            “It was a dream…that is all girls. Just a dream. A fantasy.”

Jo grinned and clapped her on the back.

            “Well, you know they say that sometimes dreams can come true. Perhaps yours will…one day?”

Anya nodded.

            “If I wait long enough, my handsome white knight will sweep me off my feet.”

Candy laughed.

            “Oh yeah, and how long do you wait for that?”

Anya looked her in the eye and smiled back as she fished a silver kettle out of her bag.

            “In my case I think…seventeen years. Shall we have coffee?”

 

 

 


End file.
